Missed Connections
by i need sleep
Summary: Emmy Altava didn't want to be late for her job interview. Alternate universe.


**Missed Connections  
A Professor Layton Fanfiction  
By **I Need Sleep

**Summary: **Emmy Altava didn't want to be late for her job interview. Alternate universe.

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**Author's Note: **This assumes that Inspector Grosky did not step out after Emmy does in-game, so he doesn't tell her who the Professor is. Alternate history for Emmy as well – spoiler free, as far as I am concerned. Written after a long day at university. Apologies for any out-of-character patterns.

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_To the gentleman at the Yard,_

_I don't know if you'll see this,  
but thanks for backing me up today.  
If you didn't step in, I'd probably be in jail right now!  
Thanks for helping me._

_PS. Your hat really suits you._

_- E_

Emmy leaned back and clicked send with a pleased smile. There was no way she'd find him – she highly doubted that a dignified man in a top hat with a professionally posh accent would check the missed connections page on Craigslist, but she wanted to put it out there anyway, just so the rest of the world would know that gentlemen still exist.

She rolled away from the desk and grabbed the envelope on the kitchen table. Pulling her favourite yellow coat on, she stuffed a biscuit into her mouth and made her way out of her apartment, locking the door behind her. She adjusted her bag's strap over her shoulder. She normally didn't bring bags, but she needed one to keep her resume looking neat during the trip to the university. Emmy swung her leg over her scooter, made one final adjustment of her bag's straps, and got her vehicle started. Kicking the stand, she headed towards the giant block of land that was Gressenheller University.

When she arrived, she parked her scooter and rushed towards the reception area, fixing her hair on the way. She had left her helmet by the scooter and hoped that, in the brief time she rode, she didn't develop helmet hair before her important interview. She really needed a new job in London, and working as a personal assistant to a lecturer at an esteemed university seemed like a pretty cushy gig, at least compared to working at a local coffee shop.

The receptionist was a student volunteer, looking chipped and welcoming. Emmy walked up to her, and Sarah (Emmy assumed that the name on the name tag on her uniform was hers) merely asked, "New student?" while sliding a map and a diary over the surface of the counter. The brunette shook her head.

"No, I have an interview with Mr Delmona," she said, eyes watching the arm slide back inwardly as Sarah collected her materials.

The student's eyes brightened in recognition. "Oh!" She said, looking down. She picked up the phone and dialled a number. "Hello, yes," she said, after a couple of seconds of silence. "Dean Delmona? There's someone here looking for you." Sarah paused, before she covered the mouthpiece with a hand. "I don't think I got your name?"

"Emmy," the brunette in yellow replied somewhat absently, as she looked around her in fascination as students and lecturers walked in and out of the doors, walking past her at different paces, "Emmy Altava."

Sarah turned her attention back to the phone and uncovered the mouthpiece. "Emmy Altava, sir. Yes," she nodded. "I'll send her over, thank you." She smiled, despite the fact that her conversational partner wasn't around, before she placed the phone back onto the receiver and turning her attention to Emmy, who shifted her weight. "Go upstairs," she began, leaning into the counter and pointing towards the sets of stairs straight ahead, "and about five doors down the hall is where Dean Delmona is. His name should be at the door."

"Alright," Emmy said, nodding. "Thanks."

"Good luck," Sarah chimed as she began to walk up the stairs. "I hope you stick around!"

Emmy walked up on the landing and began to scan the names on the doors, blending in somewhat with the students that walked past her. Students occasionally filed out of rooms, bearing different expressions – some worry, some relief, and some happiness. She smiled to herself as she remembered being a university student.

Dean Delmona's office was not five doors in – rather, his office was close to the end of the hallway. She knocked firmly and steadily, trying to calm her nervous heart. She took a deep breath and let it out, shakily. "Okay, Emmy," she said, "you can do this."

"Come in," the voice from the other side of the door said, "the door's open, Miss Altava."

She turned the knob and let herself into the spacious room. Emmy smiled at the kindly looking old man sitting behind the desk across the room from the door, who was smiling at her. "Good afternoon, Miss Altava."

"To you as well, Mr Delmona," she said, feeling at ease. She pulled out her folder from her bag and handed her resume over, which the old man skimmed as he settled back into his leather seat.

He gestured for her to have a seat across from him, while he eyes stayed trained at the sheet of paper she had given him. She bit the inside of her cheek, hoping he'd be impressed. She'd never been anybody's personal assistant before, but she was sure she'd be able to learn.

"So, you know martial arts?"

She nodded, wondering why that was such an interesting point. It was merely something she'd added to pad her resume's second page. "Yes," she said, "I picked it up as a kid."

Dean Delmona nodded to himself and began to mutter under his breath. Emmy felt her hands sweat up. "And you can drive?"

"I have a car license, yes, but I prefer travelling around in my scooter."

He looked over his glasses up at her. "And you are not against travelling?"

"No, not at all. I enjoy travelling."

He smiled at her, scrutinising gaze melting. "I'm sure you must be confused why I'm asking such odd questions, considering I did post an ad for a university professor's personal assistant." She didn't respond, but he could see the curious look behind her eyes and acknowledged it with a chuckle. "You see, our local archaeology lecturer has the tendency to lose track of time when he's surrounded by findings and such. He's missed out on more meetings than he's attended." The dean shook his head. "He's very dedicated to his work. Travels a fair bit."

That didn't explain why he was curious about her martial arts background. "Oh," she said, unsure of what else to say. "He sounds like a keen man."

"Yes," Dean Delmona said, placing the resume down. "Hershel is very dedicated. Very mild-mannered. Perhaps one of the kindest men you'll ever meet. Anyway, tell me, Emmy, when can you start?"

Astounded, the female felt her head jerk back slightly. "Today," she said, after a short while, "I can start today if you'd like."

He grinned. "A go-getter!" he got up from his seat and began to walk around his desk to her. Dean Delmona was a fairly short man. "You and Hershel are going to get along swimmingly. Come, I'll introduce you to Mr Layton."

She hoped the older man was right – she very badly wanted to get along with her new boss, the mysterious Professor Layton. "Of course," she said, following the dean out of the office and into the hallway where students and lecturers scurried about. She wondered which one of the doors down the hall would open to reveal Professor Hershel Layton.

"You'll absolutely love him," Dean Delmona said as they both stepped down the stairs, much to Emmy's confusion. Weren't all the lecturers upstairs?

Sarah waved at Emmy from her desk, and the dean waved back, which made the receptionist wave even more vigorously. She smiled sheepishly at the student who settled back into her seat to pull her phone out of her pocket. "Where is Professor Layton's office?"

"It's this one down here," the dean said, pointing to a door next to the wall that held the bulletin board. "Professor Layton is our youngest lecturer; he started teaching here at 27. Absolutely brilliant." As the old man was about to knock on the door, Sarah came bounding over, calling out to him.

"Dean Delmona!" she called, before her voice took on an intrigued tone, "Mrs Nochenetty called, and said she needed you to reprimand a student who'd cheated."

The dean let out a sigh, before he turned to Emmy with an apologetic smile. "Apologies, Emmy," he said. "I was going to introduce you to Hershel, but I'm afraid I have to attend to this."

"It's fine," she said, waving him off. "Thank you, Dean Delmona; I'll take it from here."

He nodded in response. "I shall see you around, then, Emmy, and good luck," he said, and he followed Sarah towards the direction of the large double doors that led out, leaving Emmy to stand in front of the office door labelled "Professor Hershel Layton, Archeology" on her lonesome. Lifting her fist, she knocked firmly, much like she did with the dean's door.

She heard a pleasant voice beckon from inside. "Come in," the voice said, and the brunette obeyed. She turned the doorknob, cold under her palms, and pushed the wooden door open to walk into a chaotically organised office.

A familiar man with somewhat flat brown hair and an orange, long sleeved shirt with rolled sleeves sat on a round chair by the desk at the far end, looking at Emmy in concealed surprise. She noted an equally familiar brown coat resting on the couch close by, and the brown top hat placed on the coffee table just in front of it. "How can I help you?" he asked, voice still positively rich and warm, posh and professional – just as she'd remembered it from a few days ago.

Emmy nodded, before she shook her head no. She was flustered. It was him! It was the Gentleman at the Yard! _Great,_ she thought, _now he must think I'm an idiot. _"I'm your new assistant," she said, giving him her best smile and ignoring the reprimanding voice in the back of her head. "Emmy Altava."


End file.
